


Double Blind

by ThunderheadFred



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Accidental Plot, Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM, Bondage and Discipline, Contracts, Dom/sub, Medical Kink, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-03-19 12:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13704453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderheadFred/pseuds/ThunderheadFred
Summary: Professor Solus was curved the same way scalpels were: not rounded for safety, but precisely honed, so sharp that Shepard wouldn’t feel the edge until she was six pints lighter. The promise of so much gratuitous blood loss made her dizzy. Dizzy... and something else.





	1. Decon

**Author's Note:**

> I owe [YourLocalPriestess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourLocalPriestess) a big shout out, not only for giving me such a great title when I first started brainstorming this crazy thing, but also for helping me knock this out with tons of helpful writing sprints and moral support! Thank you! <3
> 
>  
> 
> **WARNINGS:**  
> 
> 
>   * First of all. _Listen._ I had a few things I needed to get out of my system.
>   * Trust me when I say this nonsensical dumpster fire bears no relation to canon whatsoever. Any resemblance to canon is (im)pure coincidence. 
>   * Elsewhere, I’ve explored realistic canon-compliant asexual Mordin/Shepard. This is… _not that._ If you dislike the idea of Mordin Solus being portrayed as anything other than strictly asexual, turn back now.
>   * This story contains an intense D/s dynamic between a younger, meaner Mordin Solus and an N5 FemShep in her mid-twenties. Salarian biology being what it is, there’s a considerable “age difference” between them, and a MORE than considerable power imbalance. That said, there will be absolutely NO non-con or dub-con portrayed in this fic, you have my iron-clad guarantee.
> 

> 
> **Just to be absolutely thorough, here is a full list of kinks/squicks/triggers that may potentially arise:**
> 
>   * **[GORE]** canon-typical violence, descriptions of medical procedures, too many mentions of the color red, **[BDSM]** a sex contract between two consenting adults, bondage, sensory deprivation, choking and breath play, orgasm torture, toys/devices, voyeurism, mild sadomasochism, **[RED LIGHT DISTRICT TROPES]** casual sex, multiple partners, recreational drug and alcohol use, consensual sex under the influence of aforementioned mind-altering substances, **[UH... TENTACLES?]** and probably a few other things that I either forgot or am not sure how to adequately describe.
> 

> 
> ##  **Mature audiences only.  
>  Reader discretion required.**
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> 
>   
>  art is my own - [full-size here](https://fred-draws-a-thing.tumblr.com/post/176979380018/double-blind)

As usual, I brought music.

 

* * *

 

It took a full week of shift rotations for Shepard to understand: on Omega, dawn would never come. Some 375 million kilometers away from the station, the red dwarf Sahrabarik pulsed behind a rusty haze of greater stars. Viewed from Omega’s smog-choked alleys, this mediocre sun became nearly imperceptible: a dim smudge eclipsed by the burning crimson glow of a city that slept with both eyes open, if it ever slept at all. Even after serving aboard several amateurishly light-cycled Alliance troopships, Shepard still found the lack of diurnal rhythm disorienting.

Trying to nurse what had become an inescapable hangover, Shepard leaned over the edge of a narrow, crooked balcony and took a starving drag from her cigarette. Below, a mishmash of street noise resonated from every surface of Gozu District - gangs and guns and  _girls-girls-girls_  - all falling to waste, all marinated in thick enviro-con steam that rolled out of the grates in belching waves, sticky as an armpit and twice as sour. Looking out at the sprawl, she felt more intoxicated than ever. She rubbed at her eyes with a chipped fingernail but her headache stubbornly refused to dislodge, and a smoggy film began to congeal on her arms. Giving up, she stubbed out the last inch of her short batarian cigarette and resigned herself to work.

Back inside the clinic, the lights were so bright and green-blue that she instinctively squinted. Easily, these rooms were the cleanest on the station, but the Professor’s domain boasted its own proud stink: a chest-ache that wouldn’t quit, not unlike the burn after her final, longing drag. She sniffed. Chemicals and cleansers, something purified by brute force. That was his style, alright.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear - the Professor entered the staff quarters in one long stride, no wasted motion. Equally efficient: the up-down tick of his eyes on her, pure disapproval. No remark about her smoking - not necessary. He had a way of dressing her down without words, two microscopic twitches of nictitating membrane that somehow sank through her - _faster, harder_ \- than any drill instructor’s spittle.

Mordin Solus, the incorruptible bastard: former salarian Special Tasks Group and Shepard’s current N5 handler, whose unforgiving austerity went down about smooth as a mouthful of bleach. When Shepard had been handed this assignment by her ICT adviser back on Arcturus, Solus’ name and location had been little more than a bland non-descriptor flashing on a random data-pad. Seeing those two lines of  _not much,_  she’d felt insulted. Dismissive.

But now…

“Ready?” he asked, in a way that suggested she damn well better be.

“For what?” Shepard had prepared herself for five more hours plugging gunshot wounds. Anything bloodier would make for a welcome break from routine.

Without speaking, he threw something directly at her face. She barely managed to catch the projectile before it rocketed into her right eye.

An omni-tool, top of the line. She looked closer. “Experimental melee—”

He interrupted. “Dossier says good with guns.” A disdainful sniff. “Guns… boring.”

Shepard flinched before she could stop herself, hand itching for the pistol at her hip. Boring? She’d show him boring. At a hundred yards, she could bore a hole right between his—

“Huge glowing knife.” He took another breath and a spark reddened the rims of his dark, wet eyes.  _“Less_ boring.” 

 

* * *

 

At Vila Militar, in locker rooms and in darkened bunks, Shepard had been promised certain payoffs, seductive trade-in prizes in exchange for the rigor of ICT training. She’d heard the legends, all deep space guts and glory.

Explosions. Thresher Maws. Zero-G Combat. Tours on Tuchanka spent puking up barrel-brewed ryncol while krogan berserkers slapped you on the ass like a screaming newborn. Rotations on Thessia alongside amped-up asari commandos, entire units desperate for sex.

Instead, Shepard had pulled the short straw. A salarian professor, a thin-lipped intellectual in a lab coat. At the instant of assignment, Shepard had wondered if someone up the chain was trying to yank her around - payback for the phenomenally reg-breaking bullshit she’d pulled while making friends on Palaven during N4.

_Maybe,_  but whenever Shepard remembered that tour (and along with it, every brilliant blue inch of Rikkan Opiso’s alien cock) she enjoyed a rush of blood in all her favorite extremities, and regretted absolutely nothing.

The Professor - by stark, cold contrast - appeared about as sexual as a yardstick. At some point, he had hard-boiled himself out of all the newt-like softness standard to his own species. No, Professor Solus was curved the same way scalpels were: not rounded for safety, but precisely honed, so sharp that she wouldn’t feel the edge until she was six pints lighter. The promise of so much gratuitous blood loss made Shepard dizzy. Dizzy... and something else.

Attractive he wasn’t. Unnervingly tall, thin as bone, and balancing one lone horn on top of his bulbous, brain-heavy head. The other horn had been blown off by an old injury, little more than a rough stump now. A coral-colored scar slashed a deep  _X_  into his opposite cheekbone, as if by some coordinated effort. Around these scars, his remaining features had long ago committed to a deep set of wrinkles, because all he ever did was  _frown._ Theoretically, the two of them were the same age, but after taking doubly-accelerated salarian years into account, Shepard interpreted the Professor’s version of “twenty-something” to mean  _“past prime.”_

The Professor’s appearance, she quickly learned, was the first of many things not to be trusted about him. Beneath the mask of his premature calcification, he was faster, stronger, and more startlingly precise than any red-blooded Alliance jarhead she had ever faced. Less than a month ago, Shepard had roiled and raged in a stuffy deployment office in Arcturus, struggling to grasp how a single middle-aged salarian was meant to provide an entire ICT field-course of paramilitary experience. 

Day one, he strangled that skepticism right out of her. Before she’d even managed to drop bag to bunk, he’d analyzed every inch of her and found it wanting. Uniform, physique, vocabulary: all sloppy.

As punishment for failing his initial test, she spent the entirety of that first morning being thrown to the floor of his laboratory. This he seemed to do out of scientific curiosity or sadism or both. Whatever his motives, stooping to Shepard’s level for a true hand-to-hand sparring match seemed beneath him. Consistently knocking her on her ass in five moves or less and never seeming to tire, he used one dirty trick after another. A sinewy sweep of one hand, a thumb jammed into the pressure point at the root of her spine, a precise toe-kick to the back of her knee. With bored, single-handed ease, he undid her  _again, again, again,_  until she was so bruised that she’d coughed “enough,” into the heel of his boot. 

Only then - only after she’d begged - had he finally relented.

Even after all that, it wasn’t until hour sixteen, when he’d brutally reamed her for failing to route a thoracostomy tube through a batarian’s broken ribs, that Shepard had finally realized: this assignment was no joke. She was absolutely fucked.

She’d dreamt about him that first night, in all his severity and blinding whiteness. Standing over her, he’d barked flawless, sterile orders while she failed to intubate herself. She’d woken to the sound of her own choking bleat, hips shuddering back and forth, back and forth.

It had taken her a few moments to realize what was happening, then she’d dragged one hand over all the evidence: the fresh bloom of bruises where he’d schooled her at hand-to-hand... the acid-clenched muscles of her legs, still screaming from the thoroughness of his first, ferocious lesson... and between her twitching thighs, a wet and steady pulse, desperate for relief ...

She’d finished instantly, biting back a scream.

* * *

 

“Strip.”

With years of casual military nudity standing rigidly at her back, obeying him should have been easy. Even so, she paused. Something about the hugeness of his eyes, the heaviness of those gaping black pupils. He wielded a naked stare, shameless and unblinking. Perversely, it was that disinterested void which made her feel all the more exposed.

Impatiently, he gestured with both hands.  _Off, off,_ said the sharp jerking motions of his fingers, the wad of pre-coated gauze he was hastily unwrapping. 

The red ache above her ribs agreed. 

She shimmied out of the top half of her under-suit, rolling it down to her waist. Her utilitarian bra was harder to dislodge. The heat of a Blood Pack incendiary round had transformed her bra into hot glue, bonding man-made fabric permanently to Shepard's half-cauterized wound. A Frankenstein lump of fleshly plastic: hard, black, and painful. 

With jaw clenched, nostrils flared, she started to pick at the bra, but her skin wanted to come with it.

 _“Can't,”_ she hissed, pointlessly looking away.

As if he’d expected this, he nodded once, then shoved her down onto the examination table. Spanning the vulnerable breadth from neck to collarbone to sternum, one strong, broad hand was all it took to force her down.

Once again, his strength was unnerving. He forced her into his table with more gusto than seemed strictly required by the procedure. Down, down… and then _down_ some more, until her shoulder blades crunched against the fresh, sterile exam sheet.

The too-dim after-hours light of the private examination suite faded behind his shadow as he came closer, his atmosphere descending upon her, warm and heavy and dark. She felt strangled, suddenly.

Hoping to break the mood, she chose a weaponized complaint. “Maybe if you hadn’t taken my damn _gun_ away, a rabid vorcha wouldn’t have shot my left tit half to hell.”

Moving one hand to her wound, he looked her dead in the eyes. “Gun useless. Need a _brain.”_

With that, he went unflinchingly to work.

Millimeter by millimeter, the Professor yanked away charred fabric and dried blood, skinning Shepard like a pale fruit. The resulting pain was exquisitely specific, impossible to ignore. The vorcha’s incendiary had traveled along the outside curve of Shepard’s breast, stuttering out in a narrow contact burn across the ribs beneath. The wound had missed her nipple by technicality alone.

She felt every pull, every triggered nerve, as if every inch of her had been hard-wired to that lucky, death-defying nipple. Pure sensory confusion flooded over her in rainbow-colored bursts of lightning, and she struggled to suppress a rumbling groan.

Pain, absolutely. But also... 

“Stepped straight into it,” the Professor lectured, breaking her out of a gaping stupor. “Got what you asked for.”

She bristled. _“You’re_ the one who told me to get close enough to stab the fucker.”

“Never told you to take direct route.” Slow, careful, his hand seemed to downshift to a more intentional weight, lingering too long for any clinical excuse.

His eyes slid heavily between her face and her wound, a lateral once-over stripped of the straightforward desire Shepard had come to expect from such glances. She narrowed her eyes and peered deeper into his face, looking for for something familiar - something exploitative, lascivious - but as before, she only encountered the void.

He allowed her curiosity to wash over him without comment, then offered another reprimand. “Thought solution was obvious. Ample cover, generous shadows. _Stealth._ Should have been clean. Easy target.”

She clenched her teeth, conceding. “I’ve never exactly been renowned for my stealth, _Professor.”_ She spit out his title, unable to suppress the smoking, ruinous memory of Torfan.

“Why do you think they sent you to me?” he asked quietly, brow darkening.

She breathed as deliberately and evenly as possible, trying to dim her pulse, hoping he'd be fooled. Or better yet, oblivious.

_Naïve._

The more aware of her breathing she became, the more sensitive every inch of her seemed to get. The Professor, who must have been monitoring for this exact response, leaned forward by degrees, gradually eclipsing her until she was forced to meet his eyes. Those massive, empty eyes of his stared at her with infinite silence - watching, waiting.

Fingers splayed, his left palm sank into her chest, broad and smothering. Slowly, his secondary finger slid through the sweat pooled in her jugular notch, then curled around her neck, collaring her. Shepard forgot about breathing. All she could do was grind her teeth and try to ignore the furious pulse echoing from her groin.

The Professor blinked once, took a satisfied breath, and _yanked,_ clearing the last of Shepard’s bra from her wound.

A raw bolt of sensation shot through her, ricocheting from nipple to swollen clit and back again, a _bam_ of blood so forceful that her feet shuddered against the table. After a long, observant pause, the Professor threw the tatters of her melted bra to the floor: garbage.

Cleared, he pressed her injured breast away from the freshly exposed mess of blood on her ribs. There he applied a packet of medigel-infused gauze, holding it in place as it warmed. After a moment, the congealed blood softened, and he wiped away the first clots. As he cleaned the site and leaned in for a better look, he hovered close enough that his breath tickled her collarbones, then the thin-skinned stretch of her sternum, and finally, gruelingly, the stiffening peaks of her nipples. 

Another appraising sniff. That now-familiar tic, always through the nose.

“Superficial,” he said, lifting his head. “Nothing serious.”

He applied another strip of gauze, holding it there for a full minute of silence. His thumb twitched toward her nipple, and waited.

She closed her eyes, ignoring him. Ignoring all of it. To do otherwise would have just been embarrassing.

“Apologies.” He removed his hands. She heard a plastic snap as he replaced his gloves. When exactly he’d removed the first pair, she had no idea. “Sizable laceration - some detritus. Will require thorough cleaning, multiple sutures. Likelihood of permanent scar tissue: high.”

“A great big scar on my tit, huh?” She opened her eyes, hazily absorbing his great looming shadow.Before she could think better of it, she drawled, “But Professor… I didn’t get _you_ anything.”

He smiled crookedly, a snarl in disguise. Without any further warning, he doused her wound in sterilizing agent.

Shepard’s eyes rolled back into her skull so far she saw Sahrabarik throbbing in the distance, a dim strobe lost in a cloud of its own mad dust.

 

 

 


	2. White Knuckle

Shepard’s bedroom - if one could call it that - turned out to be little more than a rickety pop-up bunk crammed into a narrow storage area. She slept hemmed-in by claustrophobia-inducing stacks of boxes: five foot tall shipments of single-use auto-injectors designed to bite through a quadriceps with one quick _pfft_. Atropine, Epinephrine. Chemicals to get the pulse pounding.

She didn’t need any help with her heart-rate. The moment Shepard’s eyes opened, the Professor was already standing over her, ready to begin.

Her first task was an insultingly pointless one: retrieve an old, forgotten shipment of common medi-gel packs. This inconsequential shipment had apparently gone missing months before, lost somewhere in Shepard’s storage room-cum-boudoir.

The clinic’s dispensers were fully stocked. One stranded box of medi-gel was easily replaced, hardly worth the trouble of digging it out. No, this was another demented test, humiliation for its own sake. Shepard snorted and stomped, but her bullheadedness only seemed to harden the Professor’s crooked, wretched glare. 

He pulled her to her feet and turned her around to face the inescapable job. “ _Begin.”_

With that, he locked the door behind himself, leaving Shepard no way out but through.

It took five hours. 

To retrieve a single useless medi-gel twelve-pack, she was forced to disassemble an entire medical storage facility piece by piece. Slowly, she puzzled through a sweaty, back-breaking Tower of Hanoi, all in cramped quarters without room enough to bend. The auto-injector boxes proved much heavier than expected; in the process of rearranging stack after pointless stack, she discovered ten new screaming muscle groups… 

And one security camera.

She found the camera and the medi-gel at exactly the same time - no coincidence. 

With a jolt, Shepard noted the camera’s careful positioning on the wall, (providing a perfect view of her bunk) and her gut clenched into a tight, hot fist. 

Salarian _bastard._

Before ripping it off the wall, she looked closer. The camera had been locally deactivated, its power hardline left disconnected and dangling. 

The Professor’s voice was suddenly at her ear. 

“Good,” he said. “Found it.” 

She clutched the recovered shipment of medi-gel over her pounding ribs as if to hide a telltale heart and turned to face her doom. In the back of his eyes lurked a hungry red shadow, a nocturnal gleam full of predatory knowledge. 

Deep in her throat - where the movements were too primitive and instinctual to hide - she felt herself swallow a thick gulp of instantaneous obedience. Moving with drunken, hypnotized slowness, Shepard handed over the medi-gel without being asked. 

 

* * *

 

A week ground to paste beneath the Professor’s boot. 

Soreness penetrated through muscle and bone - bruises so deep, an ache so all-consuming, that Shepard’s every breath felt inflicted. Surgically deconstructed, she began to suspect Alliance Brass had assigned her this proving ground out of desperate superstition. As if via the Professor’s painful, forbidden means - a combination of deadly alchemy and blood magic - Shepard might be miraculously transmuted from renegade liability into secret weapon. 

Here, she was meant to acquire the subtle skills she lacked: sabotage, espionage, evasion, deception. Here, she was meant to patch together more bodies than she blew open. Here, she was meant to bleed for the plague doctor until finally cleansed of madness… or die.

 

* * *

 

Whether commanding her in combat or in his clinic, the Professor demanded proficiency beyond anything Shepard had never known, even at Vila Militar. Each lesson required more technical subtlety than the last, but his training methodology boiled down to a single, simple principle that Shepard understood completely: _relentlessness._ She never felt free of his judgement or safe from his discipline, even in her sleep. 

Every morning, cruel as clockwork, he made a personal appearance especially to wake her. At 0500 precisely, he’d drag her up by a rough fist-full of shirt, only to quietly announce whatever grueling exercise he had in mind, whispering the details directly into her ear like a twisted promise.

Those morning workouts tore her to shreds. More than once, she puked halfway through. Her weakness was no great mystery; during her off-duty hours, she fled to the seething row of nightclubs that throbbed non-stop only two streets down-well. In the dark, bass-choked corridors of Omega’s red light district - usually with the help of at least one groping asari - Shepard danced all night, drank more than she had in years, and still barely managed to drown out the constant pain left behind by the Professor’s hard, cold whetstone. 

No matter what cotton-mouthed stupor she drugged herself into during the stolen hours beyond his influence, the Professor was always there at the end, waiting for her. 

His schedule never softened, his expectations never wavered. She was no student; she was a tool. _His_ tool. 

0500\. _Begin._

 

* * *

 

She credited him with one small mercy: consistency helped more often than it hurt.

If Shepard seemed determined to obliterate herself to spite him, he seemed determined to prevent it. Under his constant watch, self-annihilation was strictly forbidden. But oh, how she _tried._

Gangs and guns and  _girls-girls-girls,_ all within reach. Omega was nothing if not a dark wonderland where, for the right price, one could satisfy any craving imaginable. Fighting, fucking - or, in Shepard’s case - a creative sampling of both.

He never stopped her, never intervened, never so much as raised the issue. The relentlessness of his training methods did not seem to extend into the bleak, wasteful hours of Shepard’s so-called personal time; but she knew - she _knew -_ his eyes were always on her. Faced with Shepard’s wanton self-immolation, the Professor fought back with consistent, predictable rigor.

Less predicable: the small but frequent toeholds he granted her. Seconds after whispering certain doom in her ear, he’d slap a ration bar into her chest, then hover nearby until she ate it. Or he’d dump a liquid MRE down her throat, all while scolding her about protein, complex carbohydrates, adequate hydration. He never allowed her to operate on an empty tank. After particularly bad nights, he delivered hot coffee or cold juice. Occasionally, if she was bleeding or delirious, he’d offer a piece of fresh fruit.

Before long, his unspoken concern was all that sustained her. She lived for his next minuscule dose of silent, intrusive pity. These near-kindnesses were never explained, never remarked upon, they were simply the means to an uncompromising end:

0500\. _Begin._

Once, midway through a frantic, drug-fueled nightmare, she woke herself with a scream. Parched and shaking, too drunk to stand, she groped through the dark only to close her hand around an ice-cold canteen.

He’d left it there, right next to her bunk, where she couldn’t help but find it.

Plain water went down like liquid purity. She swallowed greedily, wild with thirst, and imagined the taste of the Professor’s mouth - the numb comfort of an antiseptic tongue, cold and clean and incorruptible.

 

* * *

 

Near the end of Shepard’s second week, disaster finally struck.

One of the overclocked ore refineries near Omega’s central mining level experienced a cascade containment breach. The explosion tore through a late-night shift transition, eviscerating two sets of workers simultaneously, many of those souls undocumented or indentured. An exact death count would never come; all that mattered was the fallout. A third of the victims died instantly - or wished they had - and sometime around 0200, the unlucky survivors began pouring into every med-bay on the station.

The Professor’s clinic instantly became a war zone. Shepard recognized the shell-shock in the civilian employees, but felt none of it herself. She had witnessed (and caused) enough gore in her years in ICT to withstand the overwhelming rush of back-to-back emergency codes without comment.

The smell, however… there was no hardening beyond it, no battle-worn stoicism that could block it out. The Professor dosed everyone’s surgical masks with a concentrated aromatic oil imported from Sur’kesh - a sort of hyperactive strain of super-mint that made Shepard’s eyes water and her nose hairs burn, but even _that_ couldn’t mask all of it. The stink of charred flesh infiltrated every pore, until the reek clung dense as burnt syrup on the inside of her lungs.

By the scheduled morning shift change, most of the clinic’s regular staff were struggling to keep upright.

Shepard, unfazed, had already memorized the Professor’s first rule.

0500. _Begin._

By 0530, the surgical suite had imploded in the effort to stabilize their most critical patient yet: an elcor who kept seizing in and out of consciousness mid-laparotomy. Raking thick, elephant-strong limbs through the puny nursing staff, the patient bellowed and wept, scattering scalpels and transfusion bags and his own mutilated, coal-hot skin into every corner of the operating theater.

Shepard was no surgeon. She barely qualified as O.R. aid - an entry-level blood-runner sent to fetch supplies. When the Professor held out his hand and called for an aortal clamp, Shepard was not the one meant to answer.

Daniel, the Professor’s far more capable chief assistant, located the life-saving clamp. Just as he raised tool from tray, the anesthesiologist gave a shriek of terror. Seconds later, the patient seized again.

This time, the dying elcor sloughed off half the meat on his right arm. Daniel took a pound of raw gore directly to the face. Blood and burnt pus seeped behind his mask, into his open mouth, his eyes, his nose. The clamp was thrown from his hand. Shepard heard it clatter - but no one saw where it fell.

Daniel staggered and blindly walked for the door. An inch outside the threshold, he collapsed in a retching heap. Shepard estimated he would be worthless for the next three hours, maybe longer.

The elcor was seconds from coding, and Shepard was standing closest. No time to wait for orders. Without thinking, she covered the distance and reached into the patient’s open chest wound.

Her arm was submerged to the elbow before she located his hemorrhaging aorta: thick as her wrist and pouring like a hot faucet. She crushed her fingers together with all her might and held… held… _held…_

She met the Professor’s eyes, straining.

“Clamped, doctor.”

 

* * *

 

She watched the entire procedure from a foot away, witnessed the Professor direct nearly four hours of emergency surgery. He conducted the room like an orchestra, taking every new horror in stride, continuing without pause, without a single perceivable flinch.

Miraculously, he declared the patient stable at 0840.

Immediately after making the announcement, he turned to Shepard. Since her eager transformation into human tool, she had not left his side.

He held out his hands.

She suppressed a giddy impulse to grab hold and jump up and down, managing to bite back her own childishness, but only just. Grinning maniacally, half mad with adrenaline, she helped him remove his gloves. Oddly, he seemed averse to the instant sterilizer, so she followed him to the basin for a manual scrub down.

Adopting a new kind of silence, she watched him run thick foaming soap across his alien hands, shaken by the banality of it and simultaneously mesmerized by his lean, etched deliberateness. He folded his palms beneath the water - over and over - using his elbows to control the faucet, the soap, her gaze. A practiced, intimate ritual unfolded before her, and alongside it the suggestion of something beyond medical routine.

Shepard waited until he seemed ready before offering a sterile towel with both hands: a naive, hopeful net. He turned and locked eyes with her, his gaze steady, probing. She flushed at his proximity, a burn so red she felt it stinging radiation-bright across her face and neck and chest... as he slowly, deliberately, knowingly, laid his hands in hers.

Through the flimsy excuse of the towel, she felt his warmth, his hardness, the uncompromising machinery of his underlying structure, and all her questions died in her throat. She interrogated with groping fingertips and squeezing palms, her curiosity surging alongside her blood. She saw without looking, peripheral vision drawn to the edge of his mouth when he twitched. Brief but hungry, a grin of sneering affection flickered over his face.

Startled, she encountered the ridge of his large, rocky knuckle. As she tripped across the joint with her thumb, it clicked home like the pin of a grenade, and she lost her breath.

 

* * *

 

In the shower, she spent half a week’s water ration trying to wash away the suggestive possibilities of the Professor’s long, lean fingers.

Under the spray, she sought out her still-healing bullet wound. She traced its painful trajectory, hissing as she outlined her nipple, remembering the soft edge of the Professor’s thumb pausing on that very spot… the way the air between them had slowed while he hovered and waited... if only she had begged... 

_Enough_.

She returned to storage. 

Towel dangling from her hip, she kicked a path through the boxes. The camera was still there, still disconnected.

She plugged it back in, waited for the light to blink on, and dropped her towel.

She didn’t even make it back to the bunk; she spread herself on a lopsided pile of boxes and used her fingers.

_Oh fuck. Please._

 

* * *

 

0500…

The Professor yanked Shepard out of bed at the usual time, but instead of his usual threat, he simply whispered: _“Eat.”_

He presented Omega’s closest approximation of a traditional human breakfast. Toast, eggs, bacon, all processed nearly beyond recognition. The lackluster main course was redeemed by one golden addition: a single square-inch of genuine motherfucking cow butter.

Shepard had no idea what black market the Professor had procured _that_ from, but the knowledge of its rarity and terran specificity gave her a dark thrill.

When she was finished eating, he quietly ordered her to complete a round of deep tissue stretches. Gladly, Shepard complied. Stretching made for easy work, but nonetheless, her heart pounded.

Midway through her legwork, she caught him staring at her mouth.

For a moment, she wondered what had drawn his eye, then she sampled the oily corner of her lip with the edge of her tongue - finding the very last molecules of savory dairy fat.

Meeting his eyes, she licked her buttered-up mouth and slowly… _slowly_ stretched her leg behind her head. She held it there, shivering as the clinic’s conditioned air began to chill the well-dampened crotch of her skin-tight leggings.

Met with the sight of such obvious, unrestrained arousal, the Professor’s pupils dilated _just so,_ and Shepard savored her very first taste of victory.

 

* * *

 

At 0140 that night, well beyond the window of professional restraint, the first summons arrived. 

Aside from her initial, painful orientation, Shepard had never been allowed near the Professor’s private laboratory. Now, in lieu of a courteous invitation, he sent a short burst of directions via omni-tool ping.

>>Straight. Third doorway. Right x2. Hallway. Left.<<

Moments later, one more word:

>>Immediately.<<

Beneath Shepard’s thin, sweat-soaked bed sheets, her omni-tool blinked with the Professor’s impatience. His ping strobed in near-perfect time alongside the pre-programed vibe program she was administering to the tip of her clit. She absently wondered if he’d somehow done that on purpose.

Knowing she was now fully illuminated by the Professor’s illicit summons, Shepard looked directly into his surveillance camera.

“Coming,” she said, barely choking out the words before her fourth orgasm made cogency impossible.

 

 

 


	3. Airlock

When Shepard arrived at the Professor’s coordinates, she met a slab of reinforced white-enameled steel. An entrance befitting a ship’s bulkhead, here installed incongruously in the middle of a dense wall of solid poured duracrete. No airtight dogs or clamps, no handles of any kind, no visible point of entry. Less _door,_ more _blank canvas,_ a white obelisk guarding a mystery every bit as terrifying and unknowable as hard vacuum.

Sweat cooled on her neck, between her thighs. A damp chill settled into the thin shirt and shorts she’d drenched during her attention-grabbing cam-show back in storage. She hadn’t thought to change, had instantly and impulsively followed the Professor’s instructions — even barefoot, rickety, half-naked. Now, standing in the clean white shadow of this promised hell-gate, she felt comparatively filthy.

Ignoring her jumping pulse, her twitching clit, she tried to look patient. He must have been watching; he was always watching. Maintaining deliberate stillness, she waited for her presence to be digested, judged worthy. His silent voyeurism pressed down from all sides, dense and smothering. Breathing carefully, she tried not to think of the sickening crush of hot atmo.

With a low hiss, the door finally released its pressure locks and swung wide — a slow, weighty implication of approval. On the other side: nothing but unhelpful darkness. A single overhead bulb _flick-flick-flickered_ to full strength, buzzing as it warmed. Swallowing around a dry throat, Shepard stepped into a brief vestibule. She found a dim space with its own storage lockers and interior barrier, but this door was far less substantial than the first, little more than a tinted glass panel that slid noiselessly into the wall as if it had never existed.

Beyond all this, surrounded by pristine industrial terroir: the Professor himself. He stood clean-cut as ever, dominating a dark, mostly empty laboratory. He was rim-lit on one side, good horn burning white as a plasma torch above his otherwise shadowed features. With invisible eyes, he watched her hesitate at the threshold. Slowly, he smiled, red and bent, a peace offering that the hard industrial lighting cut to shreds and reassembled into a ransom note.

“Jane.”

Her pulse jumped, a heartbeat so painful she forced herself into a wilding calm not unlike the sticky green silence before a storm.  Breathe, dammit. Just let it happen.

 _Jane,_ he’d said. No one had called her that in years, but the intimacy remained one-sided. Even in the privacy of her own thoughts, the Professor was incontrovertibly and inescapably titled as such. When his assistants and patients spoke to him, she was forced to concede he might also be referred to as _Doctor Solus…_ but never _Mordin._

Shepard stayed at the threshold, waiting for instruction.

He spoke with rare slowness, unmoving. “Been reviewing your profile. Collating… Hypothesizing…”Behind him, the laboratory’s sole piece of furniture — a bare steel examination table — lurked in suggestive horizontals: austere, sterile, elegant.

“Details proved… _complicated._ But interesting. Had to puzzle together redacted portions myself. Probably owe new favor to Shadow Broker.” He paused as if waiting for her to protest, but the only surprising thing about the ex-STG agent sniffing out Shepard’s redacted files was that he had waited this long to rub his transgression in her face.

She cocked one eyebrow at him. _So what_.

He grinned. “Also, must admit: have not been _entirely_ forthright. Lie of omission regarding your ICT assignment. No chance meetings. Wanted you here; wanted to see humanity’s youngest war criminal for myself.”

That _did_ surprise her. She stood a little straighter.

He continued: “Submitted improvised course documents to Alliance brass, greased some palms. After that, easy to sing _just_ the song they wanted to hear. Chance at reformation. Discipline _and_ discretion.” He punctuated the air near his temple with pointed fingers as if to brag: _Easy._

Involuntarily, her head bowed forward, quirking to one side as if she couldn’t quite hear him. Disbelief made her thoughts heavy and difficult to sift.

He looked at her _(into_ her) his horizontal pupils scanning the hidden interior of her skull. “Assignment must have looked strange. Why consent?”

She clenched her face sourly, sure his question was some kind of trick. On reflex, she said, “When the Brass says _go,_ a Marine says _yes sir."_

“Ah. Blind obedience.” He turned abruptly, tapping one armored finger to the lab table as if planting his thoughts there. “Considering creative breadth of your disciplinary record…” His neck quirked so sharply his horn flashed white again, though she could not see his expression. “Doubtful you enjoy doing as you’re told.”

The silence of his back chilled through her; an answering rod of cold steel straightened her spine.

“Depends on who’s bossing me around,” she dared.

A long, thoughtful pause — then he began loosening his tech gauntlets, his back still turned. “Could put that to the test.”

She laughed abruptly. “How, exactly—”

“Discipline.”

Forearms freed, he dropped his heavy gauntlets to the table, twin _clangs_ of ringing emphasis. “So far… have been lenient.”

Before she could censor herself, she let loose a barking laugh. Leniency, from him?

He regarded her with narrowed eyes, flexing his wrists until his joints seemed to creak in time with her pulse. “Yes,” he muttered. _"Very_ lenient.”

His hands were intensely refined, every crease etched like a layline, deadly and deep. Back and forth, back and forth, he stretched and rubbed his fingers, his worn palms, the sharp breadth between his knuckles, the strong angle of each thumb… all the while staring her down.

She laughed again, desperate. “I see. And just what kind of ‘experiments’ are you proposing to conduct in here, Professor?” Here in this resonant, empty _nowhere_.

With the black-eyed silence of a shark, he walked a narrow half-circle around her. His bare fingers brushed the ends of her hair, barely a shiver along her neck. He stood at her back, body heat blooming across her shoulders as he reached beyond her, putting his hand to the wall and flattening his fingers against a glossy touch-activated panel. Once triggered, the wall in front of them folded in on itself, sliding away in a feat of impressive pneumatic coordination.

Shepard’s heart twisted into a tight knot beneath her ribs. Hidden behind the Professor’s third and final gateway was his real Laboratory: a terrifying, exhilarating menagerie of equipment.

 

* * *

 

Breathless, she tried to take an inventory of the contents behind the trick wall, but everything she saw in that world beyond the pale just passed through her mind like hallucinated smoke, too unreal for permanence. At first glance, read from left to right, she might have mistook the contents of the hidden compartment for a standard maintenance cache. Everything was securely mounted to stainless steel pegs and matte black armory-grade magnetic sheeting. She half expected to find a small complement of polished handguns, but instead…

Well-organized lengths of pipe and rope quickly gave way to far more presumptuous forms. She counted a vast collection of leather floggers, linear crops, willowy canes, neatly curled whips, restraints, every texture and strength of bondage material from silk to leather to steel. Endless rows of cuffs, chains, clamps, blindfolds, gags, tasers, probes, prods, spikes, paddles. On and on and on. Everything about this museum-deep collection spoke of considerable expense… and encyclopedic knowledge.

And there, on the far, _far_ right, she saw—

“Is that how you’re going to fuck me?” she blurted, barely breathing.

Instead of answering, he swiped his fingers along the touch panel. As quietly as it had opened, the wall seamlessly closed again, hiding everything.

His breath pressed like a knife on her neck as he whispered, “Is that what you want?”

She turned, found him looming so close that his operating-room cologne lanced her straight through, addictive menthol inflaming her lungs. Tasting that — alongside a familiar, disembodying madness — her hands began to move on their own.

He let her do it, let her slide her covetous palms across his body while he stood unmoving, unconcerned. She licked her lips, vision blurring until his harsh backlit edges receded in favor of his softly sneering mouth. She craved answers to all of it: the bold, incongruous lines of his Swiss Army lab coat, the alien concavity of his chest, the unusually broad sweep of his shoulders, and most of all, the creased pulse-point in the center of his long pale neck. There, her thumbs boldly crossed the limit between suit and bare skin… but he caught her hands and held her at a distance, frowning.

“Procedure, Jane.”

She made a foreign sound, a whine so rough it hit like a slap. “ _What_ procedure, exactly? For fuck’s sake, educate me.”

His pupils dilated; she’d hit a sweet spot. He pushed her back and looked to the fold-away wall, lost in his own private considerations. “Details later,” he said quietly, mostly to himself. “Liabilities, expectations, safety.” A frustrated breath: _"Paperwork."_

He met her eyes, looked away again. “Tonight, only want… Can only establish baseline limits.”

The idea of the Professor _wanting_ any part of her left her too eager to speak. She chewed the inside of her cheek to keep from making an embarrassing noise.

“Go scrub down. That way.” He pointed vaguely: _over there,_ seeming distracted. Seeing him off-balance, Shepard felt a power coursing through her that rivaled the gut rush she’d felt after landing the best zero-G dead-shot ever recorded at Arcturus’ hardcore gravity lab.

 

* * *

 

Obediently following directions, she crossed the Laboratory and walked through a shadowed doorway on the far side of the room, immediately encountering two surprises.

First, the Professor’s bed— or so she assumed. It must have been his private quarters, austere and perpendicular as it was. Salarians rarely slept, and the bed looked imposingly untouched: simple charcoal linens camouflaged against the surrounding duracrete walls and floor and ceiling, reducing everything to pure, monumental brutalism. Above the solid square bed-frame, the room’s only illumination came in the form of a shocking wall-mounted headboard, constantly glowing a deep, hot red. Heavy and imposing, it hung like the gruesome memorial of a mass crushing, thousands of trespassers smashed into vibrant decorative plasma. She swallowed hard and avoided making eye contact.

Walking cautiously toward yet another alcove, she found her second surprise in as many minutes: a private en suite. Amber bulbs glowed in soft opposition to the red fever of the headboard, lending the bathroom an inviting (if illusory) warmth. The walk-in shower looked custom built, boastfully appointed with a door made of genuine glass, lined floor-to-ceiling with a dark stone composite that — while not natural — still looked expensive.

With all its hidden chambers and illusions, its artfully-designed hardness, the Professor’s sanctum sanctorum struck Shepard as strangely bourgeois for anyone ascetic as he otherwise appeared… but she reminded herself that the Professor _appeared_ to be plenty of things. What he _actually_ was still left plenty to the imagination.

She took one more breath for courage, then went into the bathroom and stripped.

In the shower, she found another unexpected luxury: the tap had more than one temperature setting. Elsewhere on the station, taps simply turned on and poured out at a disappointing, not-quite-blood-warm 37C. But here, Shepard lavished beneath steaming hot water for the first time in weeks; even the shower walls and light seemed to radiate a gentle, suggestive heat.

Apparently the Professor had expected Shepard to survive this far, because he’d set out a line of bath products for her convenience in a neat, military line — shampoo, conditioner, soap, a fresh exfoliating sponge. She could tell on the first sniff that he’d picked the _good shit_ , made from things that grew out of pampered dirt on worlds far more exotic than Omega. Whatever overpriced snake oil he had chosen… she liked it. One minute the smell reminded her of incense, the next it seemed more like fresh fruit, occasionally she detected hints of blue cleavage. The only description that seemed to fit was simply: _yes._

It was the most intimate shower she’d ever taken— and she took it by herself. Completely alone and unobserved, she felt him on every inch, imposing a control — a _desire_ — that defied comprehension.

 

* * *

 

Scrubbed fresh, she returned to the lab wearing the same dirty clothes she’d arrived in, unsure of what else to do. She didn’t trust their new dynamic enough to emerge completely naked— not yet. For the first time in recent memory, the near-certainty of sex hit her as a thrilling, nerve-wracking unknown.

In Shepard’s absence, the Professor had conjured himself a work stool and surgical tray, had parked both beside the central examination table. He looked professional as ever, calm and upright. She watched as he fastidiously unwrapped benign sensors and lined up a full set of sterilized examination tools, their potential sharpness difficult to discern at this distance. His movements stayed orderly and quiet; when he finally looked at her, only his eyes gave him away, flickering across her rumpled clothes.

Flatly, he scolded: “Next time, wear nothing.”

She processed his instructions in absolute silence. _Next time._

When she failed to respond, he pursed his lips. Finally, he gestured to the examination table and barked: “Down.”

Gone, the bedside manner he’d afforded her in the past, all hints of the clinician stripped from his voice, replaced by short bursts of entitled certainty that pierced her brain like shrapnel. She crossed the room in a few nervous strides and flattened herself against his cold table. It too had been stripped of the usual thin comforts: no cloth or paper, no limp pillow, nothing but hard steel at her back.

“No.” He frowned, snapping a fresh examination glove down to the wrist. He gestured her back toward the floor as if she were a soiled rag compromising his equipment. “ _Off.”_

It took her a moment to realize: he’d meant for her to strip before laying down. By the time she stood up again and peeled off her not-quite-clothes, he was pressing a gel-covered electrode into the crown of her head, rough pressure forcing her naked ass back to the slab.

Outside of the Laboratory, his commands had always been challenging but clear. Here, his tone was entirely different: misleadingly vague, all but guaranteeing inevitable failure. Shivering, she thought of what punishments lay behind the closed Laboratory wall, wondered which implements he might use to set her straight, how much she would be able to take…

For now, his test remained a tease.

He attached more electrodes to her temples, clicking his tongue disdainfully.

 _“Down,”_ he reminded her.

Oh. Right. All the way.

In her eagerness to please, her back hit the steel table so hard her left breast jiggled painfully against her new scar. She flinched, biting a lump inside her cheek while he checked the contacts on her skull, syncing the feed to his omni-tool.

“Later, with permission, can tap directly into your bio-feedback implants. More accurate monitoring. For now, rudimentary tests only. Personally, prefer initial examination to be… _hands on._ Agreed?”

He opened his hands, fingers splaying firework-wide before clenching back into fists, so tight his gloves squeaked. It looked like an involuntary reflex, as if to relieve a cramp.

“Yes,” she croaked. Trying again, her voice still pitifully transparent, she begged: “Please. Yes. I want you to touch me.”

Immediately, he brushed one wide knuckle beneath her injured breast, observationally tracing the damp curve where skin met skin. His other hand placed heart-monitoring electrodes along that tender seam, each contact leaving her cold and wet with adhesive.

“Earlier, watched you achieve four orgasms in ten minutes.” His tone was dead flat, the bland observations of a researcher.

Shepard wasn’t sure if he was paying her some kind of compliment or winding up for a lecture, so she said nothing.

“Real or fake?” he prompted.

She jerked angrily. “I’ve never faked anyth—”

“Brief duration, high frequency. Unsatisfying climaxes?”

“My climaxes are fine!”

His eyes narrowed. He pulled up his omni-tool, looking unimpressed. “Reprimanded for interspecies fraternization on Citadel, Thessia, Palaven. Risked ICT expulsion for… _'fine?’"_ Opening a dull-looking log sheet, he said, “Establish _‘fine.’”_

She stared up at him, speechless.

“Tonight’s display: average or exceptional?” She didn’t answer. Frown deepening, he ticked his head to one side. _“Wake up_ , Jane. Need data. Average orgasmic intensity and duration? Refractory period?”

“What? I don’t know. It’s not really… I mean, usually I just…” She pantomimed a vague, sparkling _poof_.

A disapproving _tsk_ as he blinded her with a bright orange body scan. “In absence of data, require live demonstration.”

Every part of her hardened at the idea of orgasming in front of him, her body pulsing, nerves tingling. Laid out like this in the dark and the cold, she felt her skin prickling, her nipples peaking. It wouldn’t take much…

“Legs up,” he said, unfolding a pair of stirrups from the foot of the table.

Half laughing, she hiccuped involuntarily: “Oh my god.”

“Problem?” He put one hand on a stirrup, voice softening just enough to show he was listening, that this game would stop the instant she wanted it to. His precaution sent her reeling, more aroused than ever.

“No! It’s just… I didn’t know I had this kink until… well… until _now_.” Her blurting confession felt embarrassingly out of place, as if she were spoiling his carefully-constructed mood.

A lopsided grin warmed the corners of his red, red eyes. “You’re welcome.”

 

* * *

 

The stirrups cut cold lines across her calves, the table chilled through her back. Pressing down from every side with intense, expectant darkness, the air itself felt heavy and hard, a solid thing, alive. Shepard felt naked — truly naked — in a way that seemed to penetrate skin and bone. A flayed, inside-out kind of nudity that both reduced and elevated her: a specimen studying herself. Minor sensations became all-consuming: the stiff knot in her right shoulder, the bruises on her shin, the expensive-smelling chill of her still-wet hair clinging to her neck. The Professor’s every tiny gesture rang across her nerves: the rustling of his coat, the dull clinking of his tools, the pace of his easy breathing, his irregular blinks.

And at the center of everything, her thighs spread wide, the open air cool against her pulsing core. She twitched nervously, self-conscious of every spasm and clenching muscle, wondering how this must look, feeling so aroused her pussy was beginning to ache. She wriggled against the stirrups, hoping to find a position that didn’t make her look quite so desperate…

“Feeling vulnerable?”

He ghosted a hand along the underside of her thigh, seeming to savor the violent twitch that resulted. He groped and squeezed, his grip bruisingly hard as if informally testing her body composition. Apparently, her musculature passed inspection, because his face slipped for a moment— the brief, impressed flare of his brow her only warning before he pulled his hand back and slapped her inner thigh with an open palm.

Shame obliterated, she moaned. Hot needles of pain gave way to intoxicating warmth as he massaged and kneaded, then slapped her again. Reflexively, her thighs jerked together.

“Ah ah— open.” Chidingly, he pressed her legs further apart. His hand moved to her opposite thigh, fingers light and tickling. She laughed, surprising even herself, but despite the knee-jerk need to close up, she kept her legs spread.

“Good.” He rolled his chair closer for a better look. “Quick fluid sample. Two years overdue.” Lightly, he mumbled, “Alliance Medical… always lazy.”

She started laughing, but quieted as she felt a cold speculum grazing her thigh.

“Normally, synthetic lubricant required for insertion. In your case…” He ran his palm over her labia, spreading moisture around, his grin audible from light-years away. “Not necessary.”

She was wet and well-ready, but the speculum still came as a shock, with a feeling of intense cold as he slid the instrument inside her, then clamped it open. His right hand readied a test swab. No foreplay or preamble, he just dove in and scraped against her cervix— not painfully, but certainly with _weird_ presumptuousness and a high, bright _pinch_ that made her grit her teeth, and then it was over. She heard the clang of the speculum hitting his tray before she felt it gone, and realized that his other hand was circling her clit. His thumb rubbed in easy swirls while his palm cupped her groin, two long fingers pressing down on her belly, building the pressure.

It felt good, but… She made a brief, frustrated sound of pleasure. _Almost._

“Hmm.” He lightened his pressure, increased his speed, changed directions. Micro adjustments, precise and observant, until her hips rocked forward against his fingers.

“Aha. There.”

Momentarily he removed his hands; she grunted weakly and raised her head, saw him entering commands into his omni-tool. Seconds later, the tool’s haptic interface shifted and reformed around his thumb, emitting a high, quiet whine. He pressed the digit against her mons experimentally, vibration coming in waves that mimicked the studied rhythm of his fingers. Without him even touching her clit, she could already feel herself edging back to climax. He’d cracked that code fast enough, _damn._

“External stimulation established. Now for the internals…” He reached toward the tray again, picked up a hard glass instrument, crystal clear and bulbed. Shepard’s first delirious thought was of an abstract artist’s rendering of a turian cock. What a lovely collector’s item for a pervert, it was even kinda pretty, like something for a coffee table, and then… _ohhh shit,_ he was already sliding it into her, cold and hard and good, good, so good…

 _“Yes_ … holy fuck…”

“Wonderfully predictable Jane.” A few experienced thrusts of the toy, and he nailed her g-spot. When she cried out, clenching for more, he moved his vibrating thumb lower, deepening into a careful torture of her clit. “Any last words?” His voice shifted down a few gears, low and grating. “Harder, faster?”

Taken apart, she lifted her hips. “Please.”

“Too easy.” His omni-tool beeped quietly— an alert that he took as his queue to double down everything: pressure, speed, scientific enthusiasm. His brief, maniacal laugh cut through her last remaining sanity, reality flying apart at the seams... “Look at that. Already there in three… two…”

She clamped her hands onto the edges of the table, rose toward the ceiling, and screamed.

 

* * *

 

“Now, homework,” he said.

She opened her eyes, tried to look at him, but everything was spinning.

“Home… wha—” She flinched as a bright light began strobing in her face. She shook her head, refocused, saw a benign biosignature input square blinking at her from a data-pad: her thumbprint eagerly awaited.

“Homework. Laboratory conditions. Read _carefully.”_ He threw her clothes onto her chest, adding, “Be thorough with personal notes.”

Dimly registering that enough blackout time had passed for him to remove all the electrodes without her noticing, she pulled her shirt over her head, first backwards, then inside out. She decided inside-out was close enough and left it alone. “Personal notes?”

“Yes. Fantasies, kinks, dos and don’ts. Fears and triggers especially relevant. Need hard limits. Omit nothing.”

Stepping into her stale, damp panties, she tried and failed to salvage whatever remained of her dignity. “You expect me to just… hand you my Achilles heel?”

“Insulting.” He yanked off his gloves with a full-body grimace. “Would never resort to cheap exploitation!” He stepped closer and tapped the data pad against her temple as if sounding for common sense. “Contract establishes mutual _trust._ Never blackmail.”

She squinted, unsure.

He grabbed her chin with one naked hand, thumb brushing moth-soft across her lips in a shadow of a kiss, white hot and moist. Signaling rare salarian arousal, his hands had begun to excrete natural fluid, clear and slick as lubricant. Shepard’s clit throbbed in answer and her hips rolled forward automatically, nearly knocking her off-balance. For stability, she grabbed his wrist and opened her lips, drawing his thumb into her mouth. He explored at his pleasure, smearing fluid across her teeth, her tongue. Before long he had infiltrated every sense, every pore, not unlike the heady oil from Sur’Kesh he liked to deploy in the operating theatre: a harsh balm to ward away the scent of fear.

He lurched forward, his breath hot on her face. Voice rough, he hissed: “Consent willfully. Deliberately.” With a hard look, he added, “Make all decisions _sober._ No bravado. Powerful tools require powerful care. Left unmanaged, irresponsibly handled…” Tracing deep, slow circles, he rubbed the evidence of his arousal across her lips until her skin prickled and swelled. “Disastrous failure.”

He pressed the data-pad against her hardened nipples, curled his wet hand around the back of her neck, and poured his tar-thick voice directly into her ear. "My tools never fail, Jane.”

She shuddered, closing her hands on the data-pad.

“Yes, Professor.”

 

 

 


	4. Laboratory Conditions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content Warning:** Proceed with awareness if rape is a sensitive topic for you. As a reminder, ZERO non-con/dub-con will be depicted in this fic (including prior or implicated events), but Shepard has some second-hand trauma from witnessing the destruction of Mindoir.

**1\. — Laboratory Conditions**  
[not a legal document]

This code of conduct outlines the terms by which INSTRUCTOR (Senoquol Hezziq’k Gobane Par Solus Mordin) and STUDENT (Jane Matilda Shepard) will undertake an elective course of Private Remedial Education lasting two standard Citadel cycles - approx. 65.89 Earth days. This coursework will challenge both participants on basis of consensual sexual experimentation and role-play.

Comprehension and annotation of this written agreement is mandatory for participation. Read throughly. Fill ALL required fields. Student accepts responsibility for acceptance of terms.

    **1.1. — General Terms**

     **1.1.1. —** Private coursework may be terminated by either participant at any time without repercussion. Premature cessation of private coursework will NOT affect completion of Alliance ICT coursework.
     **1.1.2. —** All activities must remain absolutely private, untraceable, and discreet. No exceptions.
     **1.1.3. —** All remedial lessons and associated acts outlined in this document require explicit Student pre-authorization. Once this document is annotated and Bio-Printed, consent for will be assumed for all specified acts until stated otherwise. Consent may be verbally revoked at any time by use of designated “safe word” or by other means outlined in  _Section 4._
     **1.1.4. —** This contract does not require, necessitate, or imply romantic intimacy or professional conflict of interest. Student should not expect emotional reciprocity or professional favoritism from Instructor or vice versa.
     **1.1.5. —** All remedial lessons and associated acts must comply with physical safety protocols  _[see Section 4]_  and psychological limits  _[see 5.1.4.]_  as established by this signed agreement. Failure to comply with these parameters will result in immediate cessation.

 

* * *

 

 **2\. — Instructor’s Role  
** Once authorized, Instructor commits to train, test, and study the limits of physical and sexual endurance via total dominance. Dominance through mind and body, weakness and strength, pleasure and pain.

     **2.1. — Responsibility**  
Instructor agrees to provide all necessary material care, including the maintenance of Student’s mental and physical wellbeing. Complimentary provisions include: balanced nutrition and exercise, adequate shelter, supervised mandatory rest periods, toiletries and bathing facilities, and all necessary medical treatment. Such provisions will only be revoked in the event of severe breach of contract and dissolution of terms.
     **2.2. — Privacy  
** Instructor commits to uphold Student’s right to autonomy and discretion. Instructor shall never reveal the contents of this contract or discuss any aspect of private coursework with an unauthorized third party. Instructor shall never use Student’s private information or sexual proclivities for personal gain, exploitation, or blackmail.
     **2.3. — Punishment  
** Should Student willfully disobey Instructor without reasonable cause (or fail to uphold contractual guidelines) punishments will be incurred. Punishment involves undesirable, unpleasant, painful repercussions that should not be taken lightly. Punishment is not to be confused with role-play discipline. All Student preferences for role-play discipline vs. strict punishment should be outlined in detail in _[6. — Survey.]_ For additional safety information, see _Section 4._
     **2.4. — Aftercare  
** Instructor commits to providing full range of aftercare outlined in this document [see _5.1.8.]_ and will never withhold proper care (mental or physical) as a form of punishment.

 

* * *

 

 **3\. — Student’s Role  
** SPECIAL ADDENDUM: Student must meet all coursework expectations for field testing at ICT level grade “N5.” If ICT performance appears compromised by Instructor or Student bias, Private Remedial Education will immediately terminate.

     **3.1. — Obedience  
** Student agrees to submit to Instructor commands within and without Laboratory bounds. Failure to comply will result in any or all punishments established in _Section 6._ Instructor control may extend into regular daily activities or socialization but will not interfere with clinic business or compromise Student’s professional goals. 
     After signing this document, Student reserves the right to reject Instructor’s authority if and ONLY if any of the following conditions are true:

     **3.1.1.** — Obedience poses risk of grave injury or death.
     **3.1.2.** — Obedience violates any rule of this contract in whole or in part, or threatens the contractual terms of privacy.
     **3.1.3.** — Obedience interferes with standard Alliance Interplanetary Combatives Training “ICT” protocols.
     **3.2. — Chastity  
** For the duration of private instruction, Student agrees to grant Instructor total control of their sexual experience. In the event of pre-existing romantic or personal relationships, Student may request exception/accommodation to this rule in Section 5. If no objections are noted in advance, Student is expected to maintain absolute chastity. Unauthorized fraternization or masturbation are forbidden.
    Student must ask permission before achieving orgasm. No exceptions.
     **3.3. — Grooming**  
After initial inspection and acceptance of terms, Student must meet daily hygienic standards. Specific guidelines for Student’s hygienic maintenance will be assigned after initial inspection. All toiletries and sundries will be provided by Instructor.
     Pre-lesson scrub-down is non-negotiable. Private bathroom within Laboratory will be made available upon acceptance of terms. Daily styling left to Student’s discretion, however cosmetics, nails, hair, etc. must be kept neat and clean as required by standard clinical operating procedures. Please reference _[5.1.5.]_ — if no objections/allergies are noted, body hair is to be removed.
     Undergarments will be assigned.

 

* * *

 

 **4\. — Safety  
** Minor injury and discomfort such as muscle strain, dermal bruising, and mental and physical fatigue are to be expected over course of study. Any injuries, marks, or mental or physical distress must be resolved by Instructor before end of session. _[See 5.1.8.]_

     **4.1 — Mercy  
** In addition to careful observation and communication, safewords and signals may be used to slow, pause, or stop activities at any time. Biofeedback cerebral monitoring system (via discreet, removable implant) will provide redundant failsafe even if designated safeword is not said aloud due to oral obstruction or limited mobility.
    Other methods that may be used to revoke consent:

     **4.1.1. —** “Mercy,” “wait,” and “no” are NOT safewords. However, such phrases will prompt Instructor to slow down and make adjustments — unless Student specifically requests a non-consensual role-play scenario.
     **4.1.2. —** For clarity,audio/visual signals should follow the “rule of three” where one repetition indicates “slow down,” a second repetition indicates “approaching limit,” and the third repetition indicates “full stop.” For instance; shaking the head “no” three times in rapid succession, tapping with a hand or finger three times, or grunting “nuh-uh” three times. Any of these signals will prompt Instructor to act accordingly.
     **4.2. — Full Stop  
** During any lesson period or punishment, instruction shall cease immediately if any of the following conditions are met:

     **4.2.1.** — Student uses predetermined “safe word” as defined in _[5.1.1.]_ or any of the full-stop methods indicated in _[4.1.]_
     **4.2.2.** — Student becomes incapable of signaling with auditory, visual, or bio-feedback cues.
     **4.2.3.** — Third-party participants fail to adhere to Laboratory Conditions.
     **4.3. — Corrective Punishment vs. Role-play  
** For the purposes of this contract, a distinction is to be made between A) pleasurable “discipline” based on the Instructor/Student role-play outlined by this document, and B) harsh, unpleasant corrective “punishments,” which are to ONLY be used infrequently as recourse for rule breaking and bad behavior.
    All disciplinary activities - whether role-play or corrective - must be followed by appropriate aftercare and must NOT involve any of the following:

     **4.3.1.** — Permanent bodily harm.
     **4.3.2.** — Serious injuries such as: broken bones, burns, internal bleeding, severe numbness or drastic loss of circulation.
     **4.3.3.** — Loss of consciousness.
     **4.3.4.** — Withholding food, water, or air for extended periods of time.
     **4.3.5.** — Blood may not be drawn at any time unless Student gives prior consent. [See: 6. — Survey] Any bleeding wounds must be treated promptly with medi-gel and complete aftercare. Prolonged bleeding and severe blood loss are not permitted under any circumstances.

 

* * *

 

**5\. — Questionnaire  
** Answer every question fully. Do not omit any psychological triggers or physical problems Instructor should be aware of in advance.

This information will be kept absolutely confidential. This datapad is triple-hex encoded and bio-signed for security. Upon completion of private training, ALL course documents and associated data will be scrubbed.

{I}: indicates Instructor response  
(s): indicates Student response

    **5.1. — Health and Safety**

     **5.1.1. — Safe words (1st = approaching limit, 2nd = ALL STOP):**  
(s): Eska = approaching limit. Paragon = all stop. 
     **5.1.2. — Current infectious diseases, if any:**  
(s): None.
     **5.1.3. — Disclose any medical conditions, disabilities, or medications:**  
(s): Left knee has luxating patella due to prior injury. Traumatic spinal injury repaired with surgery at age 17 —some residual pain. Occasional TMJ/lockjaw. Semi-permanent birth control implant.
     **5.1.4. — Disclose any past or present emotional issues/triggers, such as: rape, incest, abuse, trauma, cultural/religious concerns, etc:**  
(s): You’ve read my file. No batarians. No slavery. No rape. (Not just re: myself. Nobody.)
     **5.1.5. — Disclose any skin conditions, sensitivities/allergies, objections to body hair removal**  
(s): No skin conditions. Not allergic to dextros. I don’t mind hairless pits and legs - willing to wax/shave/cream. Pubes stay, but I’ll get a detail job just for you.
     **5.1.6. —Explain any past experiences with sexual role-play.  
** (s): Blindfolds, tied wrists, weak spanking. Amateur stuff.
     **5.1.7. — Preference for body marks**  
A) No marks whatsoever. B) Temporary redness — a few hours. **_C) Light bruising and welts — a few days._** D) Heavy Bruising — a few weeks.  
(s): No permanent marks, but I’ll be keeping that big ol scar on my titty…
     **5.1.8. — Aftercare preferences:  
** (s): I’m not a big cuddler. But other touching is good - hair stroking, back petting, light touches. Blankets and soft beds and a good cold drink; those all sound good. Once in a blue moon I don’t mind a fancy bubble bath. Massage isn’t half bad, especially my feet (those motherfuckers get sore.) I like the thought of sleeping next to you, or with you watching over me. You’re scary as hell and barely ever sleep - I find that oddly reassuring.  
(s): I like the things you’ve already done - making sure I eat, leaving water out for me. Just knowing that you’re paying attention, showing mercy, seeing to my needs even when I don’t. I like that. A lot.  
(s): Also? Surprises. I got tingly all over when I saw that fancy expensive shit in the shower.
     **5.1.9. — Disclose any pre-existing relationships or objections to enforced extra-curricular chastity.**  
(s): None.
    **5.2. — Wants and Needs**

     **5.2.1. — Preferred titles:  
** {I}: Professor. Sir.  
(s): Jane. Girl.
     **5.2.2. — Student’s Experience with sexual role-play:  
** A) None **_B) Casual_** C) Veteran D) Hardcore
     **5.2.3. — Student’s sexual orientation:  
** (s): Now.  
{I}: Less cheek, more honesty.  
(s): Pansexual. Poly-curious. DTF aliens, especially Professor-shaped aliens.
     **5.2.4. — Dominant roles Student would like Instructor to fulfill:  
** (s): Strict disciplinarian. Disinterested intellectual professor/researcher. STG agent/interrogator/spy. Mad scientist. Alien with a big probe. Voyeur. Lusty lystheni expat. (Haha)  
{I}: Lystheni. Serious request? As in: inducing extralegal copophase?  
(s): …are you willing?  
{I}: Study hard.
     **5.2.5. — Student’s desires:  
** (s): I like how much you scare me, how mysterious you are, how out of reach you seem to be. The element of fear or intimidation is arousing. I want to be challenged by your disapproval and disinterest. Having you just out of reach, with just a sliver of reward here and there, that’s tantalizing.  
{I}: Clarity. Your request: near-impossible challenges, confusing tasks/orders, maintaining illusion of interpersonal distance/disinterest etc. Role play “discipline” such as controlled pain, orgasm denial/training, physical endurance. Just a few options. Yes?  
(s): YES.
     **5.2.6. —Student’s ideal submission fantasy:  
** (s): Being pushed or goaded deliberately beyond my previous limits. Sexually, physically, mentally, whatever. I like to find the edge and plummet over it. Running up against your competence - your control - that’s extremely appealing. A little frightening, but that just makes me more curious, excited.
     (s): Specifically… the way you knocked me on my ass that first day without blinking an eye. The way you’re just… _good at things._ Be good at things — _at me._ Tell me to reach further than my arm can reach. Tell me how to stand, how to fight, what to eat, who to fuck, when to cum. I’ll do it.
     **5.2.7. — Student’s fantasy/fetish?:  
** (s): Recently? You. You giving in, you unraveling a little, those little glimpses. Your fucking hands. I want you to touch me with your bare hands. I want to know what you taste like. I want you to cave in, just a little, to whatever the fuck it is that made you assemble a secret sex laboratory and still have the AUDACITY to call yourself asexual. I want you to fuck me. Fingers, strap-on, dick — _anything_. Do you fuck anyone?  
{I}: Rarely.  
(s): Yeah, but will you fuck _me?_  
{I}: Study hard.
     **5.2.8. — Describe ideal role play location:  
** (s): I like your Lab, a lot. I also like dark alleyways and slimy bars. I wouldn’t mind you following me places. I especially wouldn’t mind getting sidetracked during a field training exercise.  
{I}: Refuse to compromise ICT exercises.  
(s): What about some *different* field training exercises…  
{I}: Done.
     **5.2.9. — Why are you interested in submission?  
** (s): Lately finding it difficult to get off with partners. Damn bored of masturbating. Have to be in control of everything else, a lot of pressure to perform. In the bedroom, I don’t want to have to think about it anymore. Basically, it’d be nice to feel anything other than my own clenched asshole. I trust you to know what you’re doing. I don’t think I’d try this with anybody else, to be honest. Your competency feels weapons-grade.
     **5.2.10. — What can you offer in a submissive role?  
** (s): A challenge.  
{I}: Answer the question.  
(s): I’ve followed a lot of orders in my life. I like to talk back, but I know when to shut up and do my job. I don’t have a problem with authority; I believe the structure is there for a reason. I’ll do what you say because I believe you know a hell of a lot more than I do, but I’m no pushover. I’ll do it because I want to do it. Sexually? I’m strong, I’m decently flexible, and willing to take a pounding. I’m attracted to aliens of all genders and excited by other people’s pleasure. Yeah, I want to get off, but that’s only half of it.  

 

* * *

 

**6\. — Survey  
** Outline any specific wants, fantasies, or negative triggers in the “notes” column.

     **Rate survey items from NO to 5:**  
NO — Under no circumstances.  
1 — Strong dislike, mood spoiler.  
2 — Tolerable. Would prefer to avoid.  
3 — Interesting, not essential.  
4 — Exciting.  
5 — _Please._
**_Kink_** | **_#_** | **_Application_** | **_Comments_**  
---|---|---|---  
Abrasion (scratches, chafing, rubbing) | 4 | role-play | (s): Sign me up for turian rash please.  
Age play | 2 |  | (s): I like that you're experienced but I'm never calling you "daddy" or acting like a little girl. Hard pass.  
Anal/cloacal penetration (giving) | 1 |  | (s): Not interested unless somebody desperately needs this  
{I}: Somebody doesn’t.  
Anal/cloacal penetration (receiving) | 2 | role-play | (s): I'll try some, but nothing too big. Only small plugs, fingers, etc. No dicks/dildos.  
Anal/cloacal stimulation (oral) | NO |   | (s): Really not interested.  
Aromas | 4 | reward | (s): Fancy smells. I like your style.  
Asphyxiation (via gag/restraint) | 2 | role-play | (s): That sounds frightening. Might be good for testing limits, but makes me nervous.  
Auctions | NO |   |    
Balance Training | 3 | punishment | (s): Gonna make me carry a book on my head?  
{I}: Something like that.  
Bathing (alone) | 3 |  | (s): Boring. Unless there's a camera ;p  
**Bathing (with Instructor)** | **5** | **reward** | **(s): YES**  
**Behavioral restrictions/rules** | **5** |    | **(s): I enjoy being made into a more effective tool. Outside the Lab too, please.**  
Bestiality fantasy |  2 |    |  (s): Limited interest. Maybe an unknown/animalistic alien role-play - rachni etc, something at least semi-sapient. ZERO interest in actual animals.  
**Biotics (exposure to)** |  **5** |  **reward** |  **(s): FUN**  
Biotics (using) |  n/a |    |     
Biting |  4 |  role-play |  (s): Some light biting/mouthing, especially on the thighs, neck and nipples. No blood or extreme pain. NO genital biting.  
Bleeding |  3 |    |  (s): Sounds intense. Willing to try with immediate aftercare.  
**Blindfolds** |  **5** |  **reward** |  **(s): would enjoy having you sneak up on me or scare me a little, too**  
**{I}: Easy enough.**  
**Bondage** |  **5** |  **reward** |  **(s): I am very interested in letting you take control so I can relax into a restraint. Let someone else steer the ship, so to speak.**  
Branding |  NO |    |     
Breath play |  3 |  role-play |  (s): Appealing if it's your hands over my mouth. Less appealing if it's oxygen deprivation or gagging, etc  
Breeding fantasy |  2 |    |  (s): See "bestiality fantasy" -- same deal  
Bruises |  3 |  punishment |  (s): Leave me a little reminder if I fuck up  
Burns |  3 |  role-play |  (s): Electrical or friction burns okay - temporary ones  
Cages |  NO |    |     
Catheters |  NO |    |  (s): Doc... just no  
Cells |  4 |  punishment |  (s): You already make me sleep in a storage closet. Just keep that up.  
Chains |  2 |  punishment |  (s): Iffy but negotiable. would prefer ropes or leather restraints  
**Chastity belts** |  **5** |  role-play |  **(s): The idea of you being possessive/protective of my so-called chastity is VERY interesting...**  
Chest bondage |  2 |    |  (s): Don't like the idea, but I'll tolerate it  
Chest whipping |  3 |  role-play |  (s): Better than the bondage thing, still not great. Might enjoy if lightly done.  
**Choking (manual)** |  **5** |  **reward** |  **(s): I like the idea of your hands around my throat while you whisper weird shit in my ear...**  
Chores (domestic) |  2 |  punishment |  (s): Sounds boring as hell  
Clothing chosen for you |  4 |  role-play |  (s): In private more so than in public, but I'll play along either way  
Collars |  NO |    |     
Corsets |  3 |  reward |  (s): Might enjoy you strapping me into one. Not really interested otherwise  
**Cross-protein exposure (dextro-levo contamination)** |  **5** |  **reward** |  **(s): I'll take all the turian dick you send my way**  
Cuffs |  4 |    |  (s): Nice not having to worry about my hands  
Cutting |  2 |    |  (s): Small/shallow only. With immediate healing/aftercare  
Cybernetic enhancements (exposure to) |  3 |    |     
Cybernetic enhancements (installation) |  NO |    |  (s): I'm fine without.  
Deep throat penetration |  4 |  role-play |  (s): Have a somewhat sensitive gag reflex and don't want to hurl, but I like choking on a dick from time to time  
**Dildos** |  **5** |  **reward** |  **(s): FUCK. ME. UP.**  
**Dildos, strap-on (penetrated by)** |  **5** |  **reward** |  **(s): If it's you? Holy shit, PLEASE.**  
Dildos, strap-on (wearing) |  3 |    |  (s): Prefer to be the one getting fucked, but don't mind it.  
Dirty talk |  3 |  reward |  (s): Maybe? This could either be very good or very bad. I'd like you to tell me exactly what you're gonna do to me, but make it... science-y  
Double penetration |  3 |    |  (s): Still not really interested in anything in my butt. BUT, willing to try  
Electric shocks/prods |  4 |  role-play |  (s): Sounds intense/frightening. I like the idea of being teased with it, but not TOO much actual shocking  
Electrotherapy/muscle contractions |  3 |  role-play |  (s): Willing to try. Sounds weird/interesting  
Enemas |  2 |  punishment |  (s): Not sexy  
**Enforced celibacy** |  **5** |  **role-play /** **punishment** |  **(s): Could also be a real punishment, depending on duration. I like the idea of getting really desperate.**  
Erotic dance (observing) |  4 |    |  (s): Depends on who it is  
Erotic dance (performing) |  1 |    |  (s): You don't want to see that  
**Examinations (tests, quizzes, etc.)** |  **5** |  **role-play** |  **(s): I am surprisingly into this. I will certainly fail.**  
**Exercise (non-sexual)** |  **5** |  role-play / punishment |  **(s): I'll drop and give you... pretty much whatever.**  
**Eye contact (or lack thereof)** |  **5** |  **reward** |  **(s): From you? yes. YES.**  
Face slapping |  NO |    |     
**Fear/Being Frightened** |  **5** |  role-play |  **(s): YOU'RE TERRIFYING :D :D :D**  
Feet |  2 |    |     
Fire |  NO |    |  (s): bad history  
Fisting (anal/cloacal) |  NO |    |     
Fisting (giving) |  NO |    |     
Fisting (vaginal/ukal) |  NO |    |     
Flogging |  4 |  role-play |  (s): Not too hard, but yeah.  
**Following orders** |  **5** |  **role-play** |  **(s): In the Lab or out of it. I'm game.**  
**Food chosen for you** |  **5** |  **aftercare** |  **(s): I'm crap at doing this for myself. Not a sexual kink, but would appreciate it - would almost consider it aftercare.**  
Food play |  2 |    |  (s): Not my thing.  
Forced eating or deprivation |  2 |    |  (s): Only in the sense of making me eat when I forget. Otherwise no.  
Forced masturbation |  4 |    |     
Forced nudity (private) |  4 |    |     
Forced nudity/exhibitionism (public) |  3 |    |  (s): Not if anybody can see my face. Maybe in a mask.  
Forced servitude |  2 |  punishment |  (s): Only domestic servitude. No sexual slavery. Hard limit.  
Full head mask/hood/covering |  NO |    |  (s): Sounds dehumanizing. Not my kink.  
Gags |  4 |  role-play |  (s): Don't want to drool too much.  
Genital worship (giving) |  3 |    |  (s): Not sure what this is, but I like genitals.  
Genital worship (receiving) |  3 |  reward |  (s): I think?  
Given away/traded |  NO |    |     
Groin torture (devices, pressure, etc) |  4 |  role-play |  (s): Not for long periods.  
Gun play |  3 |  role-play |  (s): No guns in the bedroom. I'll bullseye whatever/whoever you want on the street, though. Do have a kink for target practice.  
**Hair pulling** |  **5** |  **role-play** |  **(s): Not hard enough to remove any hair - tugging sounds good.**  
Harem play |  NO |    |     
High heels |  3 |    |  (s): Sure but I'll just embarrass myself.  
Hot wax/oil |  3 |  role-play |     
Humiliation (private) |  3 |  role-play / punishment |  (s): Really depends on the type of humiliation. NOT into slut-shaming, etc. Willing to take a verbal beat-down over fucking up a procedure/mission/command, though.  
Humiliation (public) |  3 |    |  (s): See above.  
Hypnotism/Suggestion |  NO |    |     
Ice/cold torture |  4 |  role-play / punishment |  (s): Not full body. Don't stick my naked ass in cold storage.  
Immobilization |  3 |  role-play |  (s): For short periods, maybe. Might panic otherwise.  
Incest fantasy |  NO |    |     
Infantilization |  NO |    |  (s): BIG NOPE. BIGGEST EVER NOPE.  
Initiation/Hazing |  3 |  role-play |  (s): Are you in a frat? I'll do weird shit to be in your club, sure.  
Injections |  3 |  role-play |  (s): What kind of injections?  
{I}: Inert. Saline.  
(s): Not afraid of needles, not really turned on by them either.  
**Interrogations** |  **5** |  **role-play** |  **(s): Do some STG shit to me, I'm begging you.**  
**Intricate rope bondage** |  **5** |  **reward** |  **(s): I very much want to try this. Especially digging the idea of you spending a lot of time tying/untying knots.**  
Kidnapping/Abduction fantasy |  4 |  role-play |  (s): Only if you're the one doing the kidnapping.  
**Kissing** |  **5** |  **reward** |  **(s): IF YOU KISS ANYONE, KISS ME**  
Kneeling |  4 |  role-play |  (s): Would prefer minimal cushioning (ex: cardboard) for knee  
Knife/blade play |  4 |  role-play |  (s): More brandishing than actual cutting, preferably  
Knotting (turian, toys) |  4 |  reward |     
Leather clothing |  4 |  reward |  (s): Leather is good  
**Leather harnesses/restraints** |  **5** |  **reward** |     
Lectures for misbehavior |  4 |  role-play / punishment |  (s): I get horny when you're angry, so sign me up.  
Lingerie wearing |  4 |  reward |  (s): I don't own any, but I'll wear it if purchased as a gift.  
Manacles/restraints |  1 |    |  (s): Don't mind the bondage but would prefer ropes or leather.  
**Manual Stimulation (giving)** |  **5** |  **reward** |  **(s): Let me touch.**  
**Manual Stimulation (receiving)** |  **5** |  **reward** |  **(s): I love being fingered almost as much as I love being fucked.**  
Massage (giving) |  4 |  reward |  (s): Don't want this framed as "servitude" but as a treat, being allowed to touch you (or whoever)  
**Massage (receiving)** |  **5** |  **reward** |     
**Medical exams** |  **5** |  **role-play** |  **(s): Was surprised by how much I enjoyed this. More please.**  
**Mind fuck (literal)** |  **5** |  **reward** |  **(s): Like from an asari?**  
**{I}: One option. Alternative: sensory deprivation + neurological stim program**  
**(s): SIGN ME UP**  
**Mind fuck (psychological)** |  **5** |  **role-play** |  **(s): I'm comfortable with you messing with me, scaring me, getting in my head a little, etc.**  
Modeling/exhibitionism |  NO |    |     
**Multiple partners (two or more)** |  **5** |  **reward** |     
Name calling |  NO |    |     
Necrophilia fantasy |  NO |    |     
Nipple clamps/weights/torture |  3 |  role-play |  (s): Doesn't sound fun, but I'll endure some (not too much) for a role-play  
Nipple piercings |  NO |    |     
**Nipple play** |  **5** |  **reward** |  **(s): My breasts are sensitive.**  
**Oil play, body lubricants** |  **5** |  **reward** |  **(s): This sounds very... salarian. I like.**  
Oral stimulation (giving) |  4 |  reward |  (s): as with touching, would prefer this framed as a reward, not a "servitude" thing.  
**Oral stimulation (receiving)** |  **5** |  **reward** |  **(s): :) :) :)**  
**Orgasm control/training** |  **5** |  **role-play** |     
**Orgasm denial, edging** |  **5** |  **role-play** |     
**Orgasm torture (forced/prolonged orgasms)** |  **5** |  **role-play** |     
Other partners (chosen for you) |  3 |  role-play |  (s): Enjoy the RP idea, but would prefer some level of input or ability to quietly veto  
Other partners (chosen yourself) |  5 |    |     
Outdoor/public sex |  4 |    |  (s): Alleyways...  
Paddles |  3 |  role-play |  (s): I'd rather be spanked with something else, honestly.  
**Pain (mild)** |  **5** |  **reward** |     
Pain (moderate) |  4 |  role-play |     
Pain (severe) |  3 |  role-play |  (s): No serious pain as punishment. That's a little too fucked up for me.  
Pet play |  NO |    |     
Piercing |  NO |    |     
Poisoning fantasy |  3 |    |     
Prison fantasy |  3 |    |     
Prolonged genital intercourse |  3 |    |  (s): Might need breaks. Tendency to go numb.  
Prostitution |  NO |    |     
Public exposure |  NO |    |     
**Punishment** |  **5** |    |  **(s): I like the idea of punishment role-play (IE: being disciplined after failing a difficult/impossible task) but am also willing to do less pleasant punishments if I break rules or seriously underperform.**  
**{I}: Added column. Specify role-play vs. unpleasant punishment. Reward system also helpful.**  
  
Rape fantasy |  NO |    |     
Religious fantasy |  3 |    |  (s): Are you a priest?  
**Remote sex (communicator, camera, text, receiving instructions, etc)** |  **5** |  **role-play** |  **(s): OOOOOOH. STG Infiltrating... *my pants***  
Removing body hair |    |    |     
Removing genital hair |  1 |    |  (s): Would rather trim it. I get irritation, not fun.  
**Riding crops** |  **5** |  **role-play** |  **(s): Oh man. Smack your palm and glare at me.**  
Rituals |  3 |    |  (s): Are you a priest who's secretly into satan?  
**Rope harnesses** |  **5** |  **reward** |     
Rough genital Intercourse |  3 |  role-play |  (s): Rough ride okay. No tearing or bleeding. No dry sex or forced entry.  
Rubber/latex clothing |  2 |    |  (s): Not into fetish gear, but willing to wear it to get someone else off.  
Scarification |  1 |    |  (s): Already have enough scars.  
Scatological fetish |  NO |    |     
Scratching |  4 |    |     
Sensory deprivation |  4 |  reward / role-play |  (s): Depending on whether this is scary or not, could go either way. Fun regardless.  
Serving as art |  2 |    |     
Serving as furniture |  2 |  punishment |     
Serving as toilet |  NO |    |  (s): HELL NO.  
Sleep deprivation |  1 |  punishment |  (s): I get enough of that already.  
{I}: Agreed.  
**Sleeping with Instructor (non-sexual)** |  **5** |  **reward** |  **(s): THIS IS AN OPTION??**  
**{I}: If you behave.**  
**(s): Oh. my. god.**  
**Spanking** |  **5** |  **role-play** |  **(s): Not in a daddy dom kind of way, but you can slap my ass all you want**  
**Sparring (martial training)** |  **5** |  **role-play** |  **(s): Knock me on my ass.**  
Speculums |  3 |  role-play |  (s): Don't mind it - could be fun in the context of a larger role-play. In and of itself not exciting.  
Speech restrictions |  3 |  punishment |     
Spitting |  NO |    |     
Spreader bars |  4 |  role-play |     
Standing (prolonged) |  3 |  punishment |  (s): As long as I get a break to use the head, fine.  
Stocks/restraining chairs |  4 |  role-play |     
Straight jackets |  3 |  punishment |  (s): Not sexy for me, but would be effective as punishment.  
Strangling |  3 |  role-play |  (s): Would prefer your hands, but this is okay.  
**Strength training** |  **5** |  role-play / punishment |     
Suspension (full inversion, head down) |  3 |  role-play |  (s): I'll try it. Short periods.  
**Suspension (horizontal)** |  **5** |    |  **(s): Definitely want to try this.**  
Suspension (upright) |  4 |    |     
Swallowing (dextro sexual fluids) |  4 |    |  (s): Swallowing is fine, dexto or levo. Would like water afterwards, though.  
Swallowing (levo sexual fluids) |  4 |    |     
Swallowing other bodily fluids (specify) |  NO |    |     
Teasing (physical) |  4 |  reward |  (s): Enjoy being brought to the edge.   
Tickling |  3 |    |  (s): Uhh. Maybe?   
**Uniforms** |  **5** |    |  **(s): Dress up please. Still got some STG gear???**  
Urethral sounding |  NO |    |     
Urination fetish (watersports) |  NO |    |     
Vaginal/ukal penetration (giving) |  4 |    |     
**Vaginal/ukal penetration (receiving)** |  **5** |  **reward** |  **(s): Very much this. A lot of this.**  
Vampire/Ardat-Yakshi fantasy |  4 |  role-play |  (s): Okay that is interesting.  
Venom exposure (drell, hanar, etc) |  4 |    |  {I}: Mind altering substances will NOT be combined with any other activities. Any interactions will be closely supervised  
Verbal humiliation |  3 |  role-play |  (s): No slut shaming.  
{I}: Acceptable to berate you for lacking sexual impulse control - being insatiable/impatient?  
(s): That sounds good. Just don't call me a whore.  
**Vibrator/Omni-Tool** |  **5** |    |     
Video (being recorded) |  4 |  role-play / punishment |  (s): Closed circuit okay. I like the security cameras. But that feed only goes to you - no one else.  
Video (watching others) |  3 |    |     
Voyeurism (being watched) |  4 |  role-play |  (s): By you, yes. Especially while getting off.  
{I}: Including with other partners?  
(s): YES.  
Voyeurism (watching others) |  2 |    |  (s): Only if I know they consented to it. Even then, not really.  
Water torture |  3 |  role-play |     
Waxing (hair removal) |  3 |    |  (s): Not pubes. Elsewhere okay.  
**Wearing symbolic items (collar, jewelry, perfume, etc)** |  **5** |  **reward** |  **(s): No collars. Otherwise I like the sound of this.**  
Weight gain/loss (forced) |  NO |    |     
Whipping |  3 |  role-play |  (s): Don't want to break skin this way. Too many bad historical associations.  
Wrestling |  3 |    |  (s): Something about this is kinda too funny. I think I'd spoil the mood.  
**Non-human partners** |  **#** |  **Gender (if applicable)** |  **Comments**  
Asari | 4 |   | (s):  yep  
Batarian | NO |  |   
**Drell** |  **5** |  **any** |  **(s): yes please**  
Elcor |  2 |  male |  (s): (WITH EROTIC INTENSITY) .......maybe??  
Hanar |  4 |    |  (s): if they're into it, I'm into it  
Krogan |  3 |  male |  (s): sort of terrifying. no penetration.  
Quarian |  3 |  any |  (s): wouldn't want to get them sick  
**Salarian** |  **5** |  **any** |  **(s): Y E S**  
**Turian** |  **5** |  **any** |  **(s): Y E S Y E S Y E S**  
Volus |  1 |  neither? |  (s): um.  
Vorcha |  NO |    |     
Machines (basic) |  4 |    |  (s): Pre-programmed fucking machines? Sure.  
Machines (semi-aware) |  NO |    |  (s): This doesn't seem ethical. No.  
Machines (AI) |  3 |    |  (s): I have so many questions.  
  
 

* * *

 

**7\. — Signatures**

     I, _Jane Matilda Shepard_ , agree to abide by the terms of this contract in the role of _STUDENT_ for two standard Citadel cycles - approx. 65.89 Earth days.  
This signature indicates my willful consent,  


  
**[J.M.S. — BIO-SIGNED 05.00.03.08.20.2179]**

    

 

     I, _Senoquol Hezziq’k Gobane Par Solus Mordin,_ agree to abide by the terms of this contract in the role of _INSTRUCTOR_ for two standard Citadel cycles - approx. 65.89 Earth days.  
This signature indicates my willful consent,  


  
**[S.H’k.G.P.S.M. — BIO-SIGNED 03.49.15.08.21.2179]**


End file.
